


I saw you there, I saw you then

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brooklyn Boys, Coming Out, First Times, M/M, PTSD, Pride, Reincarnation, Rimming, Shrunkyclunks, Wrong number, cap!steve - Freeform, land lines, modern!Bucky, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: An accidental slide of a thumb brings Steve and Bucky back together.





	I saw you there, I saw you then

**Author's Note:**

> For Nurse Darry, our amazing beta. We hope it makes you feel better <333

It was supposed to be a joke. Bucky had found his cordless landline phone from when he was in high school, plugged it in, and called his sister. She had actually used the artifact the most, borrowing it to call girlfriends and boyfriends since their parents had weirdly decided she was the untrustworthy one, or had to be protected, or whatever it was that had led to her being forbidden dating and having her privacy invaded at random intervals. He thought she’d get a kick out of him finding it now.  
Grinning to himself Bucky startles when the deep, rich, masculine voice picks up after several rings.

“Hello?” 

“Uh,” Bucky swallows because that voice has done things to him with a single word, “Is, uh, Becks there?”

“No,” the voice rumbles, “There’s just me here.” Bucky expects the man to say he has the wrong number and hang up. Instead, he asks, “Am I supposed to go find her for you?”

“No,” Bucky answers, taken aback enough he blurts, “Why would you ask that?”

“That’s what we used to do,” the voice says with a long sigh, “back when there was only one telephone in the building. I wasn’t sure if it was still the same.”

Blinking in midair, Bucky can only manage another eloquent, “Uh.” How old is this guy? He has a drop-to-knees voice, but it sounds like he’s ancient. And has somehow missed the last several decades. Why else would the guy remember communal phones?

“Sorry,” Sexy Old Man says, “that’s probably weird to hear.” 

“Kind of,” Bucky admits. When the guy still doesn’t hurry him to disconnect, curiosity gets the better of Bucky - because he can only imagine the guy couldn’t have known communal phones went away in the Sixties if he’s been out of the country - he asks, “You been away awhile?”

That low chuckle again.

“You could say that. Got my discharge papers and came home. It’s… Nothing is the same.”

The tone is so sad, so melancholy, there’s no way Bucky can hang up now. Not only will he be unable to forgive himself from leaving a slightly crazy vet by himself, his mom will kill him. 

“How long did you serve for?”

There’s an odd paused before he answers with, “Too long. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you.”

“No, no,” Bucky says quickly, “it’s okay. You were serving overseas...?”

“Steve,” the voice fills in at the pause. “And, yeah. Not allowed to say where. I think they want me to go back, though.”

“Go back?” Bucky’s mouth says before his brain catches up to him. It’s just surprising because Steve can’t be as old as he first thought if they are asking him to re-up. Unless he’s somehow indispensable. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six, I suppose.”

“Dude,” Bucky barks out a surprised laugh, “everything you say is so strange. You suppose?”

“I feel older,” comes the grumpy answer, and Bucky finds himself smiling. But it quickly slips away as Steve continues. “I’m just tired, I guess. It’s like everyone had a life without me. Moved on, had families, or… or just didn’t make it back, and here I am… Complaining that I’m alive.”

“Hey,” Bucky sits on his couch, curling his arm around his knees, “just ‘cause someone else has it bad, doesn’t invalidate what you feel. You’re alive, that’s a win, but… Sounds like you’re pretty alone, too.”

“Always kinda been alone.” Steve’s voice sounds so distant, like he’s a million miles away, and Bucky hopes his own doesn’t sound so far. “Mom died when I was eighteen… had to get by on my own. Didn’t find a family again until I was in the service. They were a great bunch of guys, you know? The best of the best, and they were _mine_.” 

The silence lingers over the line, but Bucky doesn’t try to fill it. He’s pretty sure all Steve needs is someone to talk to, and Bucky still likes the sound of his voice. If he’s being honest, he likes thinking he’s helping, too. 

“Then there’s Peggy,” Steve whispers. “She was… She was somethin’, you know? A real looker, but had a mean right hook. They’re gone, but… Pegs isn’t.” All at once, the words are spilling out of Steve like a river. Guilt, Bucky thinks. “And I should call her, I should. All the other guys, they’re gone now, but Pegs isn’t; just how do you do that to a person? Tell them, ‘Hey, you thought I was dead and I ain’t, and you moved on, but hey I’m not dead, how ‘bout that dance?’ How do you do that?”

“I dunno, Steve,” Bucky says honestly, because it feels like this time Steve wants an answer. Doesn’t seem like there’s an easy answer.” 

“There isn’t,” Steve agrees roughly. “I don’t call, I’m the kind of guy who lets a woman think he’s dead ‘cause it’s easier on him. I call, what does that do to her life? Her happiness? I can’t do that to her,” Steve swallows so hard Bucky hears it through the line, “but I can’t let her hear it from anyone else.”

Bucky lets the silence linger for as he flounders for something to say. A part of him is hung up on the old fashioned phrases, charming as they are.The dilemma this guy has isn’t one his limited twenty-seven years of experience can deal with. He doesn’t know what Steve should do, what the right move is, though it seems Steve does. Knowing it, though, isn’t helping Steve any, and that’s where Bucky is thrown. He’s always believed that if you knew the right thing to do, everything would get simpler, but it sounds like ‘the right thing’ is only going to make everyone involved hurt more.

“That’s not even the worst of it,” Steve declares with a rough laugh. “The worst of it is, I keep thinkin’ it shouldn’t have been me. Why’d I get to come back? I ain’t anything special. My best friend, my XO, _he_ was somethin’ special. He died… feels like two weeks ago. He died and I didn’t, and I still… I don’t know why. It should have been him that survived.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Bucky blurts and could slap himself for it.

“What?” Steve asks, sounding curious instead of angry or his previous state of melancholy.

“Survivor’s guilt,” Bucky reluctantly explains, “It’s when the survivor of a tragedy feels guilt over being alive. That they shouldn’t have lived.”

“Yeah,” Steve says thoughtfully, “I guess… Yeah.”

“But you did live, Steve,” Bucky says quietly because someone should have told this to Steve already. Someone should have offered him counseling if he’s in this bad a shape. Who wouldn’t be after losing their whole unit and best friend. “You can’t take it back and... and what would your friend say if you did?” 

“If he were here.” Steve huffs out a laugh. “If he were here, he’d smack me upside the head and tell me to get over myself.” There’s another short, this time embarrassed laugh. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dump all over you like this.”

“No, no,” Bucky says quickly, “Man, you’ve… you’ve gotta talk to someone. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger and I don’t mind being that guy.”

Steve’s chuckle is a low velvet rumble and Bucky hopes the guy isn’t straight, now that he knows he isn’t ninety.

“Thanks. I do think I needed that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, surprising himself when he adds, “anytime,” and means it.

Another chuckle, as sinfully delicious as the first, and Steve says, “I’m really going to let you go now. I found a boxing gym down the street and I think now’s a good time to take my frustrations out on a bag of sand.”

“Sounds like a sane coping mechanism,” Bucky says, uncertain himself if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“That’s me,” Steve says, but his sarcasm is perfectly clear, “sane and coping.”

“Bye, Steve.”

“Bye.”

There’s a soft click and Bucky sighs, lowering the phone to stare at it in his hand. He should call his sister. He should tell her about the call and the strange guy named Steve with the seductive voice. After a long, silent moment, he goes to the kitchen to make himself dinner. Something about talking with Steve feels private, personal. Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but Bucky wants to keep Steve to himself.

\----

Like every other Millennial, Bucky had spent a lot of time thinking about the apocalypse. Specifically, Bucky thought of how would the world end and what would Bucky do to try to survive it. He had a plan, a vague one at least, and had learned some stupid skills - like how to start a fire without a match or lighter - despite living in the city and not having a fireplace. Yet, Bucky had never really thought it would all end because of _aliens_. Real life, honest to god, _aliens_ coming out of the sky.

Bucky’s apartment is in Sunnyside, Queens, far from his Brooklyn home, but one rents what one can afford and Bucky _cannot_ afford to stay in Brooklyn unless he lives with his parents. While he loves his mother, there is nothing that could make him move home. 

Well, except aliens attacking, but Bucky’s plan for the apocalypse includes strength in numbers.

Currently, the benefit to living in Queens is he can see the attack pouring out of the sky over Manhattan from the roof of his building. If one could call that a benefit. Before the news even reports it, Bucky is rushing downstairs to call his sister. Becca works in Manhattan as a bank clerk and, right now, Manhattan is the epicenter of the apocalypse. All Bucky’s plans for survival are blown away as he fears for his sister’s life and knows he can never get to her in time. 

Careening back into his apartment, Bucky skids across the linoleum in his socks. He slams into a wall, bounces off, and dives over his couch to grab his cellphone. Ignoring the sharp pain in his wrist as he bangs it against the table, he lifts the phone and pushes the power button. The screen stays black. 

Shouting wordlessly at the stupid paperweight, he holds the power button, but it flashes 0% battery at him. 

“Goddammit!” Bucky nearly screams as he throws the phone across his living room. A moment later he’s scrambling again as he remembers the land line he’d bought just for laughs. It’s not for laughs now as he scoops it from it’s forgotten place on his book shelf. The phone beeps and chirps as he pushes the numbers in and then cradles it against his ear.

It rings and rings…

...and rings and rings…

Then a familiar deep voice picks up… sort of.

“This is Steve Rogers.” Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat. He knows that name. He knows it. “Leave a message after the tone.”

Bucky hangs up and starts dialing again. There’s no time to think of how _Steve_ is an old soldier. Alone in a new world. A man who knew a Peggy. A man who is so obviously _Captain America_ Bucky feels stupid for not realizing sooner. There’s no time to absorb that he was talking to a hero, a legend, a super soldier. He dials again, being more careful this time, and puts the phone back up to his ear to listen to it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

\----

If Bucky hadn’t realized Steve was Captain America, he imagines he’d be having as much trouble as the rest of the Internet in believing that superheroes are real and that they saved New York City from aliens. It’s far fetched, to be sure. A movie plot, or bad T.V., not reality. Yet, Bucky had seen it with his own eyes. His sister had been there, in the thick of it, and had only survived thanks to Captain America. A fact that has Bucky sitting in his living room, holding the land line, finger over the redial button. It had taken some doing, but the phone stores the last several outgoing calls, and it still has the wrong number he’d dialed. Steve’s is just one digit different from Becca’s, a one instead of a two. It’s no wonder he misdialed.

Taking a breath, he presses dial, and holds the phone to his ear. To his surprise, it picks up after the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Steve, hey.” Bucky’s suddenly unsure of what to say, or if he even should be calling. “Um, it’s that wrong number from last week.”

“Oh, hey, uh…” Steve laughs and Bucky’s toes curl. “You know, I never got your name.”

“Well, see,” Bucky takes a deep breath, “this is gonna be weird now. I know who you are and I was kind of named after that best friend we were talking about last time. My name’s Bucky.”

“Are you… Really?” Steve asks. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, um, that’s not too crazy, is it?” 

Bucky wishes the phone had a cord so he can twist it around his fingers. As it is, all he has is a pillow to wrap his arms around. It isn’t the same at all.

“No, that’s…” Steve’s quiet for a moment. Bucky guesses he needs a minute to process. “Wow, your parents really named you after him?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “He was the only Jewish Howling Commando, and it meant a lot to my dad, who was in the Army, and my grandpa who was rescued by you at Azzano. So, James Buchanan Barnes, that’s me. And he was right, Bucky’s much better.”

To Bucky’s immense relief and slight surprise, Steve starts laughing. It brings a smile to Bucky’s lips as he listens.

“Okay, alright,” Steve says once he’s stopped laughing, “why are you calling, Bucky?”

“Well, see, last week,” Steve sighs and Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to hear it, “you saved my sister at her work and I just… Thanks. I just wanted to say thanks.”

“O-oh,” Steve says and Bucky wonders what he was expecting Bucky to say. “I’m just glad I could help, really.”

“You did,” Bucky says fiercely, because he can practically feel the way Steve is trying not to take credit. “I love my sister. She’s wonderful, got a great job, gonna take her degree and change the world, and she wouldn't be here right now if not for you. So, thank you, Steve, and if you ever need another… uh, ear to lean on, don’t think twice about calling me. I mean it, okay?” There’s no answer from Steve, so Bucky adds, “I’d offer to take you for a slice, but I imagine you get that a lot.”

“Not really.” Bucky’s heart skips at the amusement he hears in that voice. “Coffee, but not pizza. It’s like people have forgotten the glory of pizza.”

“Hardly,” Bucky scoffs, squeezing his pillow harder. “You’re just not hanging out with the right people.”

“Not really hanging out with anyone,” Steve says, and Bucky winces. Right, defrosted ninety-something with no friends, a dead girlfriend, and survivor’s guilt.

“Well,” he drawls, “we can fix that. You wanna go get some pizza?”

“I, um,” Steve starts to say and Bucky can’t quite take hearing the rejection.

“It’s no pressure,” he says quickly, tugging at the fringe on the throw pillow Becca had bought him as a joke gift when he’d moved in. He can’t remember feeling this nervous about asking someone out for a slice of pizza… Oh hell, he’s trying to ask out Captain America. And his first choice is pizza. Bucky has a sudden, very strong urge to slam his head against the coffee table. “If you don’t wanna go -”

“No, I just… I’m not sure where you are,” Steve says, “If you’re in Jersey, we might have some issues.”

“Damn right we will,” Bucky huffs. “Fuck Jersey.”

For the second time in five minutes, Bucky gets Steve to laugh. It’s warm and rich and Bucky never thought he’d be so into a guy’s voice before this moment. Pillow talk had never really done it for him, but if it’s Steve talking Bucky thinks he’d be really, really into it.

“Tell me you’re from New York and that our hatred for Jersey hasn’t changed.”

“Brooklyn, baby,” Bucky swears, grinning widely. “Just like you. I’m in Queens now.”

Steve chuckles and Bucky melts into his couch.

“You miss it? Brooklyn?”

“Every day.” Bucky sighs. “But the rent is outrageous and I refuse to live with my parents now that I have a job and a life. Who’s gonna want to date me if I do?”

“I’m pretty sure all my dating advice is outdated,” Steve says, and it’s Bucky’s turn to laugh because, wow is it ever.

“So, pizza?” Bucky presses, hoping he’ll get a yes since Steve had said his only concern is distance.

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, sounding surprised by his own agreement. “Yeah. Some real New York pizza sounds like just the right thing.”

Bucky’s grinning as they figure out the best way to get together at the best pizza place in all of Brooklyn. It’s simply incredible. He’s going to go out with Captain America. To be fair, it’s probably not a date, but they’re going to hang out. Together. Bucky Barnes, a nobody, and Captain America, the hero from Brooklyn. More importantly, the guy who had saved Bucky’s sister and grandfather, and a guy who really just needs a friend.

\----

It takes Bucky a few minutes to realize he’s being stared at. The subway platform is bustling with people, mostly heading home from wherever they’ve been (probably work), and the subway is always weird. It isn’t that busy, but it does mean he doesn’t pick up on the prickle on the back of his neck right away. When he does, he looks about and quickly realizes what’s setting off his internal alarms. Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, is staring at him with wide, saucer blue eyes.

While Bucky has always known how Captain America looked, between pictures in history books and the more recent footage of the Battle of New York, he is not prepared to see the man in person. Wider-than-life shoulders; a chest that stretches the soft cotton of his shirt obscenely; ridiculously narrow hips that look like Bucky could span them with his hands total up to an outstandingly handsome, handsome man. Bucky wishes he could discreetly check for drool on his chin because he does not know where to put his eyes. They scan the Adonis from top to bottom, and back again because, seriously, how is he supposed to react to all…that?

Thankfully, he’s not the only one staring in dumbfounded awe. When he can finally focus on Steve’s face, he sees his look of shock hasn’t vanished. His eyes are still wide and round, face pale, lips parted. Like he’s staring at a ghost and not a stranger. It makes Bucky hesitate before walking up to him. 

“Heya, Steve,” Bucky says, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his old ripped jeans, fiddling with his keys because Steve’s expression hasn’t changed a fraction.

“Bucky?” Steve whispers so quietly Bucky isn’t entirely sure he’s said anything except he saw his lips move.

“Yeah, are you… okay? I mean, you don’t look okay.”

“You didn’t,” Steve stammers. “I didn’t know…”

“Know what?” Bucky presses when Steve’s words fail him again. Then a light bulb flashes in Bucky’s head. All the times his family and friends have looked up his namesake and said they look alike. All the times he’s seen a picture of Bucky Barnes, the original, and thought they had the similar features. His doppleganger, Becca had once declared.

“Oh shit,” Bucky swears. “I forgot. It’s not - I didn’t think - Dude, I am so, so sorry. I know we look alike. I should have warned you, but I just don’t think about it.”

“Alike?” Steve croaks. “Bucky, Jesus, you could be his twin. If I hadn’t see him die… _Jesus_.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground. All the times people have commented on how he looks like the original Bucky Barnes were merely moments of curiosity. It’s never felt this uncomfortable; this _personal_.

“I can’t look _that_ much like him,” Bucky argues, feeling strangely defensive.

Steve, however, shakes his head.

“Down to the freckles,” he insists, stepping closer, his gaze burning. “How you stand, your eye color, your voice. It’s uncanny.”

Bucky squeezes his keys, looking down at the ground. The way Steve is staring at him is making his skin itch, making his heart beat too fast and his palms sweat. It’s not a good feeling, like talking to a crush, or someone you admire. It makes Bucky want to run, or hide. Mostly hide.

“I feel like I’m staring at his ghost.”

“Well, I’m not a ghost,” Bucky says defensively.

“I know, I know,” Steve says quickly, stepping yet closer. “I’m sorry. I just…” Steve’s hand lifts and Bucky jerks back and away. “It’s just so very strange.”

Bucky tries to shove his hands deeper into his pockets, but only stretches the stitching as there’s no space left for his hands.

“Do you not want to do this?” 

“No, I do,” Steve quickly assures, “I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable. Um, lead the way?”

Though he doesn’t like the way Steve is still staring at him, Bucky leads him out of the subway. The Pizza Joint is only a little distance away away, a long, slim area tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop on the corner. The tile is old and yellowing, the paint stained from years of New York City pollution and a burning oven, but it smells like fresh pizza. Bucky knows for a fact the ingredients are always fresh since he worked here more than a few summers during High School.

“Bucky!” Matt, the Pizza Joint’s manage hollers moments after the bell jingles on the door as they step inside, his Brooklyn accent thick and familiar. “Been ages, you rat! Where’d you disappear to, leaving your friends all alone and heartbroken?” The big, burly Italian man sniffed, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “The loneliness! It burns every night!”

“That’s the heartburn, Matt,” Bucky laughs, “and I was here last week, remember?”

“Was that you?” Matt squints at Bucky. “Thought that was some other long-haired loser with no manners. Who’s your _friend_ , Buck?” Both Matt’s broad hairy hands pat his chest as he asks, “You ain’t gonna introduce me?”

“Ah,” Bucky shrugs and steps aside so Matt can get a better look at Steve. For a moment he debates telling Matt that Steve really is just a friend, but thinks twice. It doesn’t matter that much and he doesn’t want to make Steve uncomfortable. “This is Steve. Steve, Matt Giano. Friend and former boss.”

Now Matt is squinting at Steve even as he holds out one of his big hands, only lightly dusted with cornmeal.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Nah,” Bucky says quickly, “Stevie’s just got one of them faces.” The look of gratitude Steve shoots him as he takes Matt’s hand is tangible. “Get us the usual? With an extra side of breadsticks.”

Stepping back towards the prep table, Matt points at Bucky and says, “Comin’ right up and Gina will have your breadsticks out in two shakes.”

Steve’s staring around the place, so Bucky grabs his sleeve and yanks him towards the back. Since the place is so thin, the booths are on one side and the prep and cook area on the other. In the back, it’s a little cooler since the oven is so far away. It’s also less crowded since most customers assume being closer to the door will get them more air.

They slide into the olive green booth and Bucky taps his hand on the fake-wood table top.

“I like it here,” Steve says, surprising a smile from Bucky since the guy still hasn’t stopped looking at him with that weird focused intensity. 

“It’s great, right? Matt took over from his dad about ten years ago. The place has been around for a long time, though I don’t think quite as long as you.”

Steve snorts.

“Most things haven’t been around as long as me.”

Gina, a petite little thing with tortoise-shell glasses, shiny brown hair piled messily on top of her head, and a red apron, comes bustling over with a black plastic tray. 

“Heya, Bucky,” Gina drawls as she sets a basket of breadsticks and two cokes onto the table between Steve and him. “Steve, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles, surprising bucky again with how shy he is. It’s not what he expects from someone as fearless as Captain America.

“Gina’s Matt’s daughter,” Bucky explains, trying to make Steve feel more at home.

“Yeah, Gina Giano, funny right?” Gina rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling even as she complains, “My dad thinks he’s a comedian.”

“I am funny,” Matt hollers from the kitchen.

“Yeah, a right riot!” Bucky yells back with Gina, in sync as if he had worked here just this year. The usuals laugh, and Steve smiles tentatively, like someone who’s not sure if he’s in on the joke yet. It’s not really a funny joke unless you’re here often enough to hear all the calls back and forth from the kitchen. Feeling guilty, though he’s not sure why, Bucky says, “Thanks, Gina,” to hurry her on her way.

Because she knows him, Gina rolls her eyes as she turns away, tray tucked under her arm and a swish in her step as she says, “I can take a hint.”

After watching her go, Steve turns around and looks at Bucky with something crossed between expectation and curiosity.

“You and her…?” Steve trails off, but the question is obvious and makes rush of warmth swirl through Bucky’s belly. Great, now he is blushing like a teenager on his first date. 

Bucky shakes his head, making himself smile a little. 

“Nah, Gina is pretty as hell, but she’s always been a friend.” A snort leaves him as he’s amused with his own answer. “I’ve known her since she was this tall,” Bucky gestures to about elbow height, “and gap-toothed. Dating her’d be like dating my sister.”

“You have a sister?” Steve asks, leaning forward. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says slowly, feeling that strange tension coming back, “you saved her, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, but,” Steve waves a hand vaguely in the air as if that somehow helps things make more sense. Bucky really wants to tell him it doesn’t, but thinks he understands when Steve adds, “Bucky didn’t have any siblings.”

“Categorizing all the ways we’re different?” Bucky teases, but it’s easier now for some reason. “Yeah, her name’s Becca. She’s six years younger than me. Wanna see a picture?”

“Yes,” Steve answers, which is good since Bucky’s already pulling out his phone. He pulls up a picture of his sister and him from their last weekly lunch. Becca is all curly hair and attitude, grinning like she just stole the moon and got away with it to boot. She _had_ stolen his macchiato, so Bucky has to admit she’d gotten away with murder. Bucky is aware he might be just a tad besotted with his pretty, quiksilver little sister, but who could remain unmoved in the face of such joy? In comparison to her, Bucky is the bore of the family, and he’d be a rich man if he had a dollar for every time someone had told him that he acted too serious for his age. Not by Becca, though. Becca’s always believed Bucky was the best big brother anyone could have. Their relationship is their parents not-so-secret pride.

“I remember her,” Steve blurts, then looks away from the phone to Bucky with suddenly big eyes. 

“What?” Bucky asks, nervous again.

“N-nothing,” Steve says, grabs a breadstick, and shoves it into his face.

Bucky can’t help himself, he raises an eyebrow and projects his mother’s best unimpressed look. To his shock, Steve starts coughing after nearly inhaling the breadstick when he starts laughing. With tears streaming down his face, Steve chokes in a breath, and drinks from his coke, and Bucky thinks its singularly unfair that any man can be so damn attractive while nearly killing himself on baked dough.

“If you think choking is gonna get you out of explaining…” Bucky begins, but Steve waves him away.

“I guess I’m still a terrible fibber, huh?”

“You’d be the worst straight man, ever,” Bucky confirms, but decides to give Steve a break. They’re not best friends and Steve isn’t obligated to tell him everything, even if it does involve his sister. Probably something about the kiss she gave him after the rescue. Bucky’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear about _that_ from Steve, not when he’s heard enough about it from Becca. “So did you actually taste the food, or just try to kill yourself with it?”

Chuckling, Steve takes another bite and hums in approval. Bucky actually believes he likes it when a moment later, his eyes light up and he’s chowing down on the breadsticks without restraint. There’s little talking then as Bucky realizes he has to get in on the eating or Steve might not leave him with anything left to enjoy. 

Matt brings their pizza out himself just as they’re finishing up the last breadstick. He sets the metal pan on the table with a cautionary, “Careful, it’s hot,” and turns to Steve. “I know you,” he says solemnly. “Must be gettin’’ old, not recognizing you right off the bat. Pizza’s on me.” Steve goes to protest, but Matt holds up his hand. “Captain Rogers, you’ve been a hero here in Brooklyn long as I’ve been alive. I’m honored to serve you here and I hope you enjoy your meal.”

Without another word, Matt walks back behind the counter, but Steve is so tense now he’s vibrating in his seat.

“Relax,” Bucky says softly, “Matt’s good people. Nobody will know you ate here. No fans, no paparazzi. That’s as big of a deal as it’s gonna get.”

“It’s just,” Steve glances around, eyes bright and almost desperate, “I didn’t do anything -”

“Steve,” Bucky says gently, interrupting before Steve can trivialize what he’s done for Brooklyn and New York, “let the guy feel good about serving his hero, okay? It doesn’t have to be about you.”

Steve’s shoulders slowly come down from around his ears and Bucky smiles at him encouragingly.

“Doesn’t have to be about me,” Steve repeats. “Yeah, yeah okay.” 

They dig into the pizza and it’s as delicious as ever. The thin crust is crispy, not too gooey, there’s not much sauce, and has the perfect amount of toppings. Bucky can’t really savor it, though, not when Steve starts moaning and groaning with every bite, sounding much more like someone’s sucking his dick than him eating one of the best pizzas in the whole city. The sounds are going straight to Bucky’s own dick, and he’s not going to be able to stand up for some time at this rate.

“Good, huh?” Bucky asks, trying for levity, but his voice comes out too rough for that.

“Incredible,” Steve moans, making Bucky’s cock give a very interested leap. Bucky debates ‘accidentally’ knocking his ice-cold drink into his lap.

“I can tell,” Bucky says, hoping Steve will get the hint that his reaction is not exactly fit for public consumption. “Everyone can hear it.”

Steve grins, unashamed, and Bucky wants to throttle him. Just a little. With his dick. Preferably by pushing it down Steve’s throat.

“But it’s so good,” Steve argues, his words muffled as he’s shoved at least half of another slice into his mouth. 

“It is that,” Bucky has to concede even as he realizes he’s been staring for the last however-so-long, his slice hanging limply from his hand. He forces himself to eat, thinking about anything that will quell the heat rising in his groin. Baseball is out, those pants do great things for guys’ asses. He once had the misfortune to walk in on his parents having sex, which definitely helps, but also makes him a bit nauseous, and he’d like to finish his dinner. Free or not, it’s not like he’s made of money.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks innocently and Bucky glares at him. He can already see the headlines: National hero strangled to death by frustrated gay man, more at eleven. Bucky takes a moment the decide if Steve really has no idea how pornographic his enjoyment noises are and realizes, to his horror, he doesn’t seem to have a clue.

“You _really_ enjoy that pizza,” Bucky says again because what else is he supposed to say? I’m hard because of your food noises? Yes, that will likely go over very will with a man from the Thirties.

Sheepishly, Steve nods.

“I haven’t had a really good slice of pizza since before World War Two. Didn’t really have it in Europe, and since I defrosted -”

“You actually call it defrosting?” Bucky interrupts before he can stop himself. The question makes Steve’s smile return, so he’s not about to feel guilty for interrupting.

“Not sure what else to call it. I’ve seen the pictures; I was frozen in a solid block of ice. They literally defrosted me.”

“Huh,” Bucky says around another bite, leaning forward so his elbows are on the table. His mother’s not here, so he refuses to feel guilty about that either. “Can I ask if you remember anything? I mean, I don’t wanna bring up any bad memories, but I can’t help but be curious.”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve assures him even as he’s polishing off another crust. “I don’t remember anything about being frozen.”

“Thank god,” Bucky breathes. “I can’t imagine - I mean, think about it, right? If you’d been away for all those decades? Just… alone… in the ice. Stuck there. You would have gone insane.”

Steve blinks, but he’s looking at Bucky thoughtfully as he chews.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he admits after swallowing. “It _actually_ could have been worse.”

It’s probably really inappropriate, but Bucky finds himself laughing. “Oh great,” he says between breaths, “I’ll put that on my business cards. Think you got it bad? Let me tell you how it could’ve been worse.”

“What’s that?” Steve says, amusement in his voice. “The opposite of a silver lining? A lead lining?”

“That’s what I’ll name my business,” Bucky bemoans, still hilariously appalled he just told Captain America, frozen war hero with PTSD and survivor’s guilt, that his situation could have been worse, “Lead Linings.”

“First one’s free,” Steve says, “and another with every tenth purchase.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You think my customers would come back ten times for this particular talent of mine?”

“Yeah,” Steve bobs his head, “you can have great catch phrases like, ‘Your life is fine, I can prove it,’ and ‘It doesn’t actually suck to be you.’”

“Other people have it worse,” Bucky throws in, grinning right along with Steve at their dark humor. “Put everything in the proper perspective and I’ll cure what ails you.”

“You’d make a mint,” Steve agrees.

“Depression, no problem,” Bucky says, unable to help himself because this is so ridiculous, “PTSD? I got you covered because, I promise, it could be worse.”

“Lead Linings, for all your instant mood-lifting needs,” Steve says in a rich, deep announcer’s voice.

Bucky shivers.

“You should do radio.”

“Nah, I’m done with productions like that,” Steve says with a small smile. “Um, well, speaking of, what do you do, Bucky?”

Bucky decides he really, really likes it when Steve says his name.

“I’m an EMT.” When Steve’s face stays blank, he asks, “Did anyone explain that to you?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “I mean, they taught me Google for whenever I don’t understand things, but… it’s not the same as when someone teaches you.”

“Seems kind of cold, to leave you to fend for yourself like that.”

Steve shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s not like they’re my friends,” he points out. “Not sure I’d even want them to be nice and friendly, either. They’re government, they have an angle. Unlike you,” Steve adds, almost hesitantly, “that’s why I… didn’t try to get off the phone the other day. You’re just some guy. You don’t have an angle, do you, Bucky?”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky scoffs, his heart squeezing and he doesn’t want Steve to see. “Clearly I want you to do advertisements for my new business. You’re my first customer, after all. Lead Linings would be nothing without you, Stevie.”

Steve’s voice is oddly choked as he says, “Yeah, what would you do without me.” Then he’s shoving food in his mouth, so Bucky digs in too. When Steve’s done, he’ll change the topic, explain what he does for a living, and let whatever just happened go because Steve needs a friend more than he needs anything else, and Bucky thinks he might be the only guy for the job.

\----

For the next three weeks, Bucky talks to Steve every day. They don’t always see each other, life being busy for them both. Their job schedules are uniquely not helpful as Bucky’s is hectic and Steve’s doesn't have one. Bucky gets Steve’s answering machine more than once, but he doesn’t actually mind talking to the machine. Especially when he got it two weeks previous, after they’d pulled a ten-year-old girl from a car crash who’d died before they’d managed to get her to the hospital, despite how hard he tried to save her. That night, Bucky had sat on the small balcony of his flat nursing a stale beer, and poured his heart into the phone. Even knowing Steve wasn’t listening, it had helped to know that someone cared and understood how it felt to watch another human die.

There are messages of his own to listen to, and late night calls when he should be asleep. When Steve had been angry and unsettled after a meeting with some bigwigs and had just needed to vent his frustrations, Bucky had listened, even when he’d known he had to get up four hours later for work. He’d let Steve complain, had let him explain how he doesn't even want to work with these people, and how he’s tired. Of course, there’s plenty of calls - and texts, once they exchange cell phone numbers - when Steve just doesn’t understand something, or needs a reference explained. They’re Bucky’s not-so-secret favorites because he gets to be important to Captain America, not that he’s told anyone. 

Not even Becca.

Bucky finds he’s hiding a little something from everyone and he doesn’t know why it’s happening. Becca doesn’t know about Steve, his parents don’t know he’s changed major’s - he doesn’t want to be a doctor anymore, he wants to be a nurse. Specifically in the NICU - and Steve… Steve doesn’t know about the dreams. 

They’re strange, grainy, like an old film. In them, Bucky walks along old streets, parts of Brooklyn that are similar, but different than the ones he knows. The dreams themselves aren’t bad, nothing violent or scary happens, yet they disturb him. In them, Bucky feels unsettlingly at home, like he knows every nook and cranny. Like these streets are his. They’re not even unusual dreams, other than how off he feels when he wakes, and how they happen every night, so he’s not sure why he’s making a point of not talking about them with Steve.

It worries Bucky that he’s becoming someone he doesn’t like.

Between it all, Bucky hasn’t had a lot of time to think about looking like his name sake, or Steve’s initial reaction to him. He hasn’t had a lot of time other than to enjoy Steve’s company and prepare for Pride. He’s taken two weeks off work for it; one to prepare, and one for Pride itself. The week of events in the city have become Bucky’s favorite time of the year, second only to Christmas. Of course, he hasn’t been sure how to bring up Pride with Steve. Hell, Bucky is pretty sure the guy is one-hundred percent straight and still a little repressed, if adorably so. He has told Steve he’ll be extra busy now that Pride week has started. Bucky may be uncomfortable explaining all this since it’s so interwoven with his own identity, but he’s not going to leave Steve hanging.

When the knock comes at his door, Bucky nearly screams. He’s literally just put the last of his makeup on and is going to be late if he doesn’t get a move on. Since he’s marching in the parade, he’s not wearing much - which is also why he’s not marching with his fellow EMTs as they’d wanted him to wear his uniform. He’s slicked back his hair, painted rainbows onto each of his cheeks, and found nipple shields for his piercings so matching rainbows lay on his chest for all to see since he’s shirtless. The leather pants he’s squeezed into were the easy part of his costume. The rainbow wings behind his back arched his head. He’s had to dye the colors by hand from their normal white, and it’d taken all week.

The whole outfit is really the last thing he wants to be wearing when he opens his door and finds Steve on the threshold. Blue eyes are dark and stormy, but blink in surprise before scanning Bucky from top to toe and back again. It’s about then that Bucky remembers his boots have four inch heels. At least he went with the pants and not the speedo is the only thought that goes through Bucky’s mind as he stands there, not know at all what to say.

A moment later, he watches Steve’s mouth fall open, no words coming out. He first pales, then flushes, then mercifully returns to a normal color even as his eyes widen and widen. 

“Uh,” is the first sound out of Steve. “Did I… come at a bad time?”

The sound Bucky manages is a little strangled, but he thinks it still sounds like, “Kinda. What’s up?”

“If you’ve got someone… over, I can come back later,” Steve says even as he’s motioning in the direction he would take to leave Bucky’s building while simultaneously going onto his toes and not hiding that he’s trying to get a view into the apartment past Bucky’s wings.

“I’m alone,” Bucky admits, “about to leave, though, but I got...” Bucky twists, leaning back awkwardly, managing to nearly brain Steve with his other wing as he looks at his kitchen clock. Steve has never, ever dropped by without warning and, as embarrassing as it is, he can’t imagine it’s not important, “a few minutes. If it’s important?”

“You’re leaving looking like _that_?” Steve blurts.

Bucky wants at once to melt into the floor and die and yell at Steve for making him feel that way.

“I spent a lot of time on these wings, thank you very much,” Bucky snaps, though he knows it’s not really Steve’s fault. 

“You are not going to fit into the elevator,” Steve says blankly. 

Bucky scowls. The wings are not that bad, or big! Besides, he measured. They _will_ fit in the elevator. The less he has to walk in these shoes today, the better.

“They’re not that bad,” is all Bucky manages to say.

Steve nods, eyes still roaming Bucky’s body, “Yes they are.”

The words aren’t meant to be mean, Bucky can see that. Bucky can see Steve isn’t trying to be cruel at all. Mostly, Bucky knows it hurts because he likes Steve. He likes Steve a little too much, especially since he’s _over_ falling for straight guys - or he thought he was - but none of that changes that the words hurt.

“If you actually want something, you can say it already,” Bucky snaps.

“Um,” Steve says, clearly taken aback, “there are people…” Steve trails off, looking Bucky over again as if he’s just seeing the rainbows and feather and leather for the first time.

“What people?” Bucky says, a little impatiently. He wants to stop taking out his frustrations on Steve, but he’s unhappy and embarrassed, and Steve is not getting to the damn point, _and_ Bucky is going to be late..

“On the street…”

“That’s where people _are_ , Steve,” Bucky says when Steve stops again. “They’re on the street.”

“No, I mean yes. I mean, they look…“ Steve gestures to Bucky, his hands flapping a little helplessly. “Aren’t they going to get hurt? Or arrested? They’re holding signs...”

Jesus Christ, Bucky’s brain supplies.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky’s mouth says. “No one explained Pride to you?”

“If by pride you mean the deadly sin, yes. If you mean something else…? No.”

Bucky curses again, because Steve’s eyes are still the size of saucers and, well, someone has to explain. Apparently that someone is going to be him. 

“Get inside,” Bucky snaps when Steve says something that sounds like he’s trying to leave again. Even as he says it, he turns on his heels and marches back inside, his wings fluttering in his wake and almost taking out the little bowl he keeps beside the door for his keys. His cell phone is on the counter and he stabs at the screen as Steve meekly enters and quietly closes the door behind him. If Bucky’s going to do this, he’s going to be late, and he’s not going to leave his group hanging, wondering where he’s fucked off to.

“Eva,” Bucky says once his group leader has picked up, “I have an emergency. I can’t make it.”

“Bucky,” Eva sputters, “you spent a week on those wings.”

“I know!” Bucky practically yells into his phone. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath because it’s not Eva’s fault he’s so worked up. “I know,” he manages when he’s calmer, “but I have to explain what Pride Week is to Captain America, and that’s like an issue of national security or something.”

Before Eva can answer, or Bucky can really absorb what he’s said, he hangs up the phone.

The silence left in the wake of his multiple outbursts is broken when Steve asks quietly, “Why are you dressed like that?”

Bucky sighs, looking down at Steve dubiously. For once he’s taller than the super-soldier by a good three inches and it’s a very strange change in perspective. Steve doesn’t seem smaller, he just seems… human.

“Because I’m a fairy.” Bucky snatches his LED light-up wand off the counter and waves it at Steve. “Get it?”

Steve stares, a shadow passing over his eyes. Bucky can’t read it before Steve shakes his head and looks down.

“You shouldn’t call yourself that,” he mumbles. “You’re not, I mean… Maybe you’re… _that way_ , but you’re not… You shouldn’t say that.”

To say it’s not what Bucky expects is an understatement. Bucky’s jaw drops, and he stares, open-mouthed at Captain America who just told him not to use derogatory language to describe himself. With how this conversation has been going, Bucky had really expected anything else. He’d expected Steve to complain that the shoes Bucky is wearing would hurt his feet before he thought Steve would say not to call gay people fairies.

Steve clears his throat.

“So it’s safe? Nobody will get hurt?”

“Nobody…?” Bucky realizes that he’s the one that needs to sit down, so he does, on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “No, Steve,” he manages, “no one’s going to get hurt. Well, probably, but Pride Week is a big deal. We generate a lot of tourism and the city takes our safety pretty seriously.”

“The _city_?” Steve repeats. “Because… that’s kind of what I was worried about, too.”

“No one told you it’s legal?” Bucky blurts.

Steve narrows his eyes at him and Bucky feels hot and squirmy again.

“You’re the one who tells me almost everything. This looks like it’s a big deal, to the city apparently, to all those people, to… you.” Steve gestures again, hand flapping open as he takes in Bucky’s outfit. “But you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t…” Bucky swallows, looks away, and realizes he’s going to have to tell Steve everything he’d been avoiding for the last two weeks. Maybe even since they met. “I didn’t want to feel like I do right now,” he makes himself say because it’s the truth, or this thing is going to be between them forever. “Like I’m about this big.” Pinching his fingers together, he shows them to Steve. “Guess I’m not as okay with who I am as I told myself.

“Why would you… What did I do to make you feel that way?”

Bucky laughs, twisting his fingers together as he stares down at them. There isn’t any humor in the sound.

“The way you looked at me. I know, it’s the whole,” Bucky waves at the wings, “but I feel like a freak right now and I shouldn’t. I’m wearing this because I’m proud of who I am. And I am,” he says, louder because he _is_ , even if he’s not acting like it, “I’ve marched in Pride for years. I love it, I love taking back all that hate. I picked this costume because of how many times I’ve been called a fairy by someone who’d rather see me dead. I picked it to show them that, yeah, I _am_ a fairy. So? And I know it’s just ‘cause it’s a lot for you to take in, but...” Bucky shrugs. “I can’t help it.”

Steve’s lips twist into something sad and bitter.

“Do you think there were no gay people in the Forties?” he asks, and his voice sounds colder than it ever has before. “Do you really think I’m nothing more than a source of historical propaganda?” Steve gestures angrily around himself. “So I’m a friend only when it’s about the little things, but when it’s something important to you I’m Captain America, huh?”

“What are you _even_ talking about?” Bucky demands, because he’s got no idea how they’ve gotten here, or why it’s Steve who looks so hurt.

“I thought we were friends,” Steve says quietly. “I had hoped that meant at least some measure of trust. Giving me the benefit of doubt, at the very least,” he shrugs, but it looks sad rather than dismissive. “I’m not a homophobic asshole,” he adds even more quietly.

“I never said you were,” Bucky says, stunned, because he hadn’t said that. He’s pretty sure he never said that.

“You didn’t assume I was safe, either.” 

Most of the anger leaves Steve, or is hidden away somewhere deep and dark. He’s just quiet now and Bucky has to remember the guy is straight, he’s not from this century, and none of this is his fault.

“Steve,” Bucky says carefully, “coming out to someone is about a lot more than fear. I wasn’t ready to tell you. I don’t honestly know why, because I haven’t hidden that about myself since I was eighteen, but I wasn’t. I’m still not ready, because you apparently hate my outfit, and I haven’t forgiven you for that yet. You… friend or not? You don’t get to demand that of anyone. I’m sorry my not telling you hurt you, really I am, but I wasn’t ready and it didn’t have much of anything to do with you. Can you understand that?” Bucky leans forward and Steve frowns. “Me being scared, or not wanting to know how you’ll react, is _my_ fear. Fear isn’t a rational thing. You could be the Pride emcee and I could still be afraid to tell you. You can _tell me_ you wouldn’t care, and I can still be afraid, because it’s not just fear. It’s about self-respect, and self-worth, and a million other things, and all those things are about me, and my issues with myself. It’s not… It’s not about you. It can never be about you; it’s not _okay_ to make it about you. Do you understand?”

Steve watches Bucky carefully as Bucky speaks, before slowly nodding.

“Yeah… I think I get what you mean, but,” he licks his lips and Bucky can’t help but stare at his tongue, “you did say you didn’t want to feel so small, and that’s why you didn’t tell me.”

Bucky throws up his hands, his stomach twisting with guilt and something else he’s going to ignore for the time being.

“Well I don’t exactly like it!”

Steve snorts, shoves his hands in his pockets, but crosses from the living room into the kitchen so they’re no longer standing with an entire room between them.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, “that I made you feel bad.”

“You should,” Bucky huffs. “I look fan-fucking-tastic.”

“You know what?” Steve says abruptly, “I’ve changed my mind. I think the wings are awesome. You are managing to dust both sides of the corridor at the same time. Very useful. Efficient even.”

“Shut the hell up,” Bucky huffs, but it’s got no heat to it and Steve just grins at him.

“So, you gonna explain Pride to me, or what? It’s apparently a matter of national security.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky moans at the dig. “You are such a goddamned punk! _How_ could I have not noticed before?”

Steve goes pale between one heartbeat and another, as pasty white as if he’s seen a ghost. The color leeches right out of him, even his eyes change from cornflower blue to pale grey.

“What?” Bucky asks, worried now as he takes a step closer. “What happened? Are you going to pass out?” 

Bucky reaches out his arms towards Steve, already thinking of the best place to have Steve lie down. The guy’s big, and if he goes boneless Bucky isn’t sure he’ll be able to lift him. Super -soldier or no, head injuries are no fun for anybody involved.

“I… no. No” Steve croaks out like an alcoholic on a twelve-day bender. “I’m okay. Just… coincidence I guess. Yeah… just coincidence,” he repeats the last words like it’s supposed to mean something to Bucky.

“What is?” Bucky asks, not at all assured that Steve is all right.

Steve opens his mouth, but doesn’t make a sound for a few long seconds, the words clearly not coming to him right away.

“Buck,” Steve pauses, clears his throat, and starts again. “He used to call me that.” There’s no need to say who ‘he’ is. They don’t say his name, since it’s Bucky’s. Steve rubs his face with both hands. “It’s just… It was a shock to hear the exact phrase coming from somebody who looks exactly the same as him.” Steve looks around, spots the solitary bar stool at the kitchen counter and sits down on it before continuing. “Sounds the same as him. It… It made it hard to remember when I am.”

“When?” Bucky repeats, thinking Steve meant ‘where’. Then the reality of Steve’s life comes back to him. Steve _does_ mean ‘when’. As in, which decade. “Steve,” he starts, licking his lips because he’s assumed, but never actually asked about the details since it hasn’t been released to the press. “How long have you been defrosted?”

Steve rubs at his eyes with tense fingers.

“Around five...and a half weeks?”

“Good god,” Bucky whispers, “and here I am, not helping that, looking like him.”

Waving a hand, Steve at least manages to joke, “The wings are helping.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky huffs. “This outfit is totally wasted on you and it’s all your fault. You can at least be nice.”

Steve’s color is coming back as he smiles, looks pointedly at Bucky’s chest and says, “Your nipples are nice?”

“Oh my god, I hate you so much,” Bucky tells the ceiling, because he can’t bear to look at Steve right now if he’s to avoid blushing.

“They are in my direct line of sight,” Steve mutters grumpily.

“You had to look down to see them!” Bucky points out, crossing his arms. “You’re not making me feel bad for my outfit again. I won’t allow it.”

“I’m not sure you are totally sane, though,” Steve continues blithely, “risking cutting off circulation to… vital parts of the male anatomy by wearing those pants, so I tried not to comment on _them_. It leaves little else.”

“You are _not_ one to talk about tight pants, Mr. I-wore-tights-for-a-living.” 

Bucky gets up, going around the island counter and getting two beers from the fridge. Steve can’t get drunk, but he seems to enjoy a good beer nonetheless.

“Hey!” Steve perks up, ready to defend his own outrageous wardrobe choices. “It’s not like I had any choice in the matter! And at least they toned it down in this century…”

“I’ve seen the new suit, Stevie,” Bucky chuckles, removing the caps of both bottles and handing one to Steve, “I don’t believe a word of it. I think you would be more decent if you were actually naked. And don't even start me on the panels in that outfit. You can’t tell me they’re not made specifically for every single muscle group you possess. At least I’m wearing a prettier flag.”

“Well, at least my uniform doesn’t cut off my circulation. Yours look like they are going to damage your… uh, gluteus maximus,” Steve finishes awkwardly.

“My ass, Steve,” Bucky says with amusement, “and it looks amazing in these pants. Especially with these shoes.”

Steve shakes his head. 

“I know heels are good for the ass, god knows I wore them enough,” Bucky chokes on his beer and starts coughing, “but who would agree to wear them out of their free will? Are you okay?”

No, Bucky is not okay. Bucky is trying not to choke on air, or beer, or whatever is in his lungs. He’s really not sure. He’s not sure he cares, because Steve Rogers in heels? Dear god, that’s all Bucky has ever wanted in life.

A dark look steals onto Steve’s face and he starts talking without Bucky managing to even stop coughing.

“The first day I came for the rehearsals with the chorus girls, the producer put a freaking ruler to my ass and declared it too flat. Next day,” Steve says bitterly, “I was provided boots with goddamn heels.”

“Your ass is not flat,” Bucky squeaks out, eyes watering, because how dare _anyone_ insult that ass.

Steve perks up unreasonably

“You noticed my ass isn’t flat?” 

Blushing, Bucky manages to say, “It’s a very nice ass,” without bursting into flames. He’s not sure how he manages, but he does know these pants are great for hiding erections. There’s literally no place for his dick to expand into. Why is Steve talking about his ass goddammit?

“Do you… rate… a lot of asses?” Steve asks, and Bucky can’t help himself. Bucky does not hit his head on the kitchen counter. He does not. He has more control over himself than that. He just rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. 

“Me,” he points a finger to his chest, “gay.” He turns the finger to point at Steve’s. “You, straight.”

Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes, intense and strangely intent.

“Who told you that?”

“Uh,” now it’s Bucky’s turn to flounder, “I think this is where you were supposed to yell at me for believing your propaganda?”

“Good thing I’ve done that already,” Steve says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow that tells Bucky he’s at least not angry.

“So, um, this is where I pull my foot out of my mouth,” Bucky says awkwardly. “Are you straight? I mean, you don’t have to answer, or… you can, or whatever.”

“I like both.”

“Both,” Bucky repeats blankly, mind nothing but a white fuzz because both still means men and Bucky happens to be one of those. “What do you mean by ‘both’?”

Steve blushes, a light pink dusting on the back of his neck and on his ears. It’s unreasonably adorable and sexy, all at once. Bucky wants to both hug and lick him and that’s really, really unfair.

“I find _people_ attractive,” he shrugs a little defensively. “All… people.”

“Men?” Bucky asks, the obvious thing on his mind.

Steve nods, but there’s something unfinished in the movement.

“Women?” Bucky clarifies, following his hunch, and again Steve nods. “You’re bi?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve says, almost defensively. “What’s that?”

Bucky makes himself take a deep breath and put aside all his fantasies and daydreams and how bad he wants to suck on Steve from head to toe. Once upon a time he’d been a slightly terrified man with no idea of his own sexual identity. He’d known what it was like to confess these things and hope the other person had not only understood, but had answers.

“Bisexual people are attracted to more than one gender,” Bucky explains. “A lot of people are. You’re not… alone.”

The mutinous, challenging look fades from Steve’s face and he sags, looking somewhere between relieved and sad.

“It must be nice,” Steve muses, “being born in a time when you can talk about things like that, get a name for what you are. Back before, we didn’t talk about it. It just… It was and we tried to live with it, or hide it, or whatever it was you did to get by.”

“We call it being in the closet,” Bucky says, grabbing the stool to his left and passing it to Steve so he can sit again now without putting the room between them once more, “when you can’t tell anyone you’re attracted to another person or are otherwise queer. I was there for a long time, but… not as long as you, I suspect.”

Steve’s tugging at the seam of his jeans, not meeting Bucky’s gaze. It’s as uncomfortable as Bucky’s seen him and he wishes he could help him relax again. He was more relaxed yelling at Bucky than he is now.

“There were guys in the neighborhood, you know?” Steve’s voice is soft, almost as if he’s afraid still someone else will hear. “They were like you. It wasn’t legal, you know, but some places… you could go some places… but I figured if I liked girls, it just had to mean there was something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Bucky says firmly, leaning forward so he can grasp Steve’s wrist and part of his hand. 

“It felt like a cheat.” Steve’s eyes dart about the kitchen, the floor, anywhere but Bucky. “Like I was a failure because I couldn’t keep my eyes strictly to the girls, but I could make my life with them, so I wasn’t like the other guys, the ones that loved someone no one would let them. Like I couldn’t fit in even with the outcasts.”

Bucky squeezes down on Steve hard and the guy finally looks at him.

“Nothing wrong with you,” Bucky says again. “It doesn’t matter if you fall for a girl or a guy. It doesn’t make you less because you’re not ‘completely’ gay,” Bucky rolls his eyes at his own words, “or straight. You like what you like and you’ll love who you love.” 

Steve turns his hand in Bucky’s grip, letting their fingers tangle together. It sends Bucky’s traitorous heart to pounding and he prays his palms don’t start to sweat.

“It… It means a lot to hear it from someone else,” Steve says seriously. “I didn't think I would ever hear it, that…” Throat bobbing, Steve swallows. “It means a lot,” he repeats, voice choked. It makes Bucky’s heart swell to be able to do this for Steve, makes missing the parade completely worth it. It’s not like there won’t be another one. This? Coming out only happens once.

“Am I the first person you’ve told?”

Almost shyly, Steve nods. 

“Figured I might tell Bucky - my Bucky, obviously - one day, if I ever… you know, found a guy? But then I found Peggy, and there didn’t seem a point to admit to being… different.”

Because they’re still holding hands, Bucky toys with Steve’s fingers.

“You gonna tell anyone else?”

At first Steve shakes his head, but then he shrugs.

“When I defrosted… it didn't matter, you know? I wasn’t interested in anyone at first, so why would I bring it up? Didn’t even realize it’s all… accepted now.”

“It is,” Bucky shrugs,” and it isn’t; 2012 and still can’t get marri-” Bucky stops talking, mouth hanging open as what Steve said really sinks in. That he wasn’t interested in anyone ‘at first’. Implying, he’s interested in someone now. Some nameless someone. Bucky’s stomach runs riot, squeezing until it hurts, or is boiling, or maybe it’s exploding. “Wait, what?” bursts from his mouth and Steve snorts even as Bucky asks, “Who are you interested in?”

Steve doesn’t really bring his head up, but he shoots Bucky a look from underneath his lashes that is… Bucky blanks out for a moment, because this is _Steve_ , Captain America, unbelievable hunk, genuinely good guy and one that has been terribly wounded by life already, and he’s giving Bucky what translates as a ‘come hither’ look. Whatever Steve says, Bucky doesn’t actually hear. His lips move - Bucky knows, he’s staring at them - but the sound doesn’t process. It doesn’t much matter. 

Tightening his hold on Steve’s hand, he leans in and presses their mouths together and almost forgets to keep kissing Steve when Steve actually leans forward, tipping into it, meeting Bucky part way. The kiss isn’t fireworks, it isn’t passionate; it’s sweet and gentle, short, but feels like an entire lifetime. Steve’s lips are rough, his top lip thinner than the bottom, but they fit against Bucky’s like they were made to, like they’ve kissed a thousand times before. 

It’s only when he’s leaning away again does Bucky realize he’s closed his eyes. When he opens them again, he sees Steve’s are half-closed. They’re both tilted toward each other, millimeters apart, so he gets to watch all the little lines as Steve smiles sweetly at him.

“Guess I don’t have to ask if you feel the same.”

Bucky grins at Steve and hops his stool closer.

“Stevie, just being honest - I got no idea what you said before I kissed you. You gave me that look, and my whole world turned into fuzz and ‘kiss him!’”

Steve laughs, then leans forward this time to kiss Bucky. Grinning, Bucky tilts his head to meet him, excited for a good make-out session with _the_ hottest guy Bucky has ever known. He’s not really expecting more than that. Steve lived in the Forties just six weeks ago, so, if anything, Bucky thinks he'll need to teach him some moves.

Boy, is he wrong.

Steve makes a sound, just a tiny sigh, and Bucky feels Steve’s hands slide down to his hips, palms wide and hot. Then he moves and Bucky is in the air. Just like that, with no effort, Steve had stood up and had lifted Bucky by the hips as if he was a tiny twink and not nearly 200 pounds. The sound Bucky makes is one he’ll be embarrassed to remember later as he clutches at Steve’s shoulders for some semblance of purchase. The power and tension in those muscles is tangible, something he’s only been able to admire stealthily before this moment. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t want to look like Steve Rogers. 

Since Steve keeps kissing him, Bucky has no idea where he’s being taken. All he knows is he’s being manhandled with negligent ease. They turn and then his legs hit the edge of the kitchen island and his ass next. For all Steve’s shyness, there is no hesitation now. Steve steps in between his knees with the kind of confidence that makes Bucky's cock perk up and his knees fall apart. Steve moans into their kiss, impatient and greedy, as if tasting Bucky is the only thing on his mind. Steve is so hot, so hot and hard against him, between his legs and under his hands. Bucky loves it, loves the way Steve feels, tastes, smells. It’s perfect, it’s wonderful, and it hurts like hell.

Jerking his head away, Bucky begs, “Steve, stop. God, Stevie, you gotta stop.”

Thankfully, Steve does stop, pulling away from Bucky so fast Bucky doesn’t actually see him move. There’s something hurt and worried in his expression, something that makes Bucky’s chest ache, but not as much as his dick.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says, easing himself to the floor, “my pants are not made for a man to get hard in.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve says, relief dripping off him like water. “Oh, thank god. I thought -”

“Nope,” Bucky laughs, “No, I definitely don't _wanna_ stop, I just kinda hurt now.”

For whatever reason, the statement makes Steve’s pupils dilate, engulfing his irises in blackness, and his voice is a husky purr when he says simply, “Good.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky curses as his cock reacts and it _hurts_. “Don’t do that.”

Steve steps closer again, close enough Bucky can smell him, the faint aftershave and just a hint of sweat. 

“You need me to help?” Steve asks, hands resting innocently on Bucky’s hips, curving gently about his bones.

Knees going weak, all Bucky can do is nod. What the hell else is he supposed to do?

Steve flattens his hands against Bucky's slick pants and drags them slowly, oh so slowly down his thighs, the heat of his palms scorching Bucky as they reverse and return to his hips. Then Steve changes direction, sliding inwards, lightly brushing over the front of Bucky’s pants. Gasping as his cock tries to grow despite the constriction, Bucky nearly buckles, but Steve steps in, pushing him back so he’s leaning helplessly against the counter. Then, finally, Steve reaches for the button keeping the zipper safely closed. His fingers are nimble as he pushes them between Bucky’s skin and the tightly stretched leather of his pants. 

Bucky doesn’t breathe, just stares into Steve’s blue eyes that aren’t even watching what they’re doing, but staring right back, keeping eye contact. It’s maybe the most intimate thing Bucky’s ever done, this unyielding soul-gazing that lasts and lasts as Steve undoes the button and then starts on the zipper. Despite not looking away, there's no fumbling. It’s driving Bucky a little mad, this intense scrutiny, this careful touch. 

A tight coil of heat and want settles low in Bucky’s belly. It’s a deeper desire than he has ever felt, more immediate. There’s a faint pink dusting on Steve’s cheeks and nose, even along his ears as he drags Bucky’s zipper down link by link. Bucky nearly sobs, it's so slow and it hurts so much. His cock is trapped by the leather, nowhere to go, straining and full. Then it isn’t, popping free, slapping against his bare belly. Bucky doesn’t have to look to know he’s red and leaking, but blushes himself because he has to look so damn eager. The thing is? He _is_ eager. He wants this, wants Steve, so bad.

Whispering Steve’s name, he trembles as Steve’s fingers push the flaps of his pants apart. Bucky’s breath leaves him in a rush at the feel of Steve’s wide palm curling gently around his cock. Steve is such a stunning mix of physical confidence and gentleness it makes Bucky dizzy, and he wants all of it, everything Steve will give him. 

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t have anything on underneath,” Steve breathes, and Bucky finds he was right, he is _really_ into Steve talking to him in that rich, deep voice of his. “Better?”

“Fuck, yes,” Bucky gasps, hips twitching against Steve’s hand. 

“More?”

Steve’s thumb swipes beneath the head of Bucky’s cock, strangling the response in his throat. The garbled moan that leaves him is apparently all the answer Steve needs as he folds to his knees, graceful and lithe and beautiful. He’s so gorgeous Bucky can’t quite believe what’s happening even as Steve’s pink lips part and his tongue traces the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky exclaims on an exhale. The edge of the kitchen island digs into his palms from how hard he’s holding it. It’s not like he can let go, though. He knows his knees won’t hold him up. Not with Steve on _his_ knees for Bucky, a wicked smile curving his parted lips even as his tongue swipes across the slit of Bucky’s cock, gathering drops of precome, and darts back into his mouth.

“Mm,” Steve hums, “perfect.”

“Fuck,” is all that Bucky can say to that. It’s more than just his actions, it’s everything. It’s that Steve is here, filling his mind completely. It’s the pressure of his hard body against Bucky’s shins, the heat of him, his scent filling Bucky’s nose as desire robs him of breath. 

Chuckling, Steve leans back in, kisses Bucky’s hip, his thigh, the curve of his groin right beside his cock. He presses his face to Bucky’s skin there and inhales deeply. The wicked smile on his lips changes to something small and pleased, like Bucky’s the best thing he’s ever smelled, and Bucky’s never seen anything so hot. It’s absolutely primal, animalistic, even if it doesn’t last long. His shaft rubs against Steve’s cheek, which is a little rough with today’s growth of stubble, and Bucky swears again. It makes Steve grin, turn his head, and rub his lips all along Bucky’s shaft, to the tip of his cock, where he finally, finally wraps his lips around the head. 

Steve sucks gently, pulling a moan from Bucky as the pleasure races through his cock and finally overwhelms his brain so that he can’t think about how damn good Steve looks on his knees. He slides his fingers through Steve’s short hair, shuddering at the heat of his skin, and moans, helpless in the face of the desire that has awoken in him.

Strong hands curl over Bucky’s hips, holding him in place - holding him up, really and the shudder that goes through him, the thrill of it is delicious - as Steve’s lips slide down his shaft. Bucky’s completely captivated, unable to look away from Steve’s eyes, Steve’s mouth, the concentration on Steve’s face as he slides into that warm, wet hole. It’s hot and slick against his sensitive flesh, making his heart race and head swim. The lash of Steve’s tongue has Bucky grunting, already so close to the edge that this can’t last very much longer. Steve either doesn’t realize, or doesn’t care, because he’s hardly teased Bucky and he doesn’t start now. Inch by inch disappears into Steve’s mouth, until Bucky’s cock bumps the back of his throat. Bucky can't help but moan, strangled and tight, at the way Steve’s silky, smooth throat constricts around him, taking his vision with the burst of pleasure.

Coughing, Steve pulls off and Bucky is caught between mindblowing pleasure and concern. “Steve, are you -” he manages to ask before Steve’s back, eyes watering at the edges, inhaling Bucky’s cock back into his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky moans, eyes fluttering closed, as the pleasure is twice as intense as Steve sucks hard this time. This time he judges the depth properly and backs off, but doesn’t pull off all the way. Bucky’s cock head remains in Steve’s mouth, gets a quick flick of his tongue, and then he’s going back down again.

“Stevie,” Bucky moans, “Stevie, god, that’s so good.”

The words draw a moan from Steve, like he’s the one having the come sucked out of his cock, and Bucky stops being able to think about what’s happening entirely. There’s just the pleasure of Steve’s mouth and his gorgeous eyes. Bucky slides his hands through his hair over and over, the silky contrast to the heat that’s burning him up enhancing every swipe of Steve’s tongue, every moment of suction, and little noise that leaves Steve. It’s the noises that are really undoing him, breaking his willpower to let this last. Steve moans and is so eager, saliva drips from his lips, and he doesn’t wipe it away, so the wet slippery sounds have Bucky’s balls drawing up, tightening, as he resists pulling Steve’s face to him, fucking into his wide-open, eager mouth. Part of him doesn’t think Steve will mind, but he doesn’t want to risk it. Not now, not when he’s so close, on the edge of what he can tell will be an incredible orgasm.

When it washes over him, Bucky can’t even think he was right. He’s seeing stars, bursts of light and color behind his eyelids as his body shudders and spasms. The hand in Steve’s hair tightens, making Steve grunt, but he still swallows and swallows, drawing out Bucky’s orgasm, leaving him weak-kneed and sweating. He’s still sucking past the point of pleasure, as if he can’t get enough of Bucky’s cock.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky croaks, his voice wrecked, “stop. Too sensitive.”

Steve actually whines and that nearly gets Bucky going again. Nearly. Instead he draws Steve gently away, sinks to his knees, and pulls Steve to him. The man’s huge body folds like paper into Bucky’s arms, head tucking beneath his chin, and they sigh in unison, happy and content.

“Now what?” Steve asks.

Bucky chuckles.

“Now? Well,” gently, he presses a kiss to Steve’s hair, “now I take you to my bed, strip you down, and enjoy every inch of that gorgeous body.”

“Yeah?” Steve somehow looks both coy and wicked as he looks up at Bucky through his long, pretty lashes and lets his teeth slide over his lower lip. “How do you plan to enjoy it?”

Bucky thinks the question is as much a challenge as curiosity, but there’s a little bit of nerves there, too. If Steve’s never told anyone he likes men, Bucky doubts he’s ever been with one. Yet, Bucky doesn’t think he’s a virgin, even if he does think asking will break the mood.

“I plan to touch you,” Bucky says, his voice still scratchy. “Starting with your shoulders. Jesus, Steve, you have no idea what those shoulders do to me. I literally can’t stop staring, imagining my hands on every curve, thinking how it would feel to trace each bone, each tendon.”

“My shoulders?” Steve repeats, eyebrows rising. “No one’s ever really gone on about my shoulders before.”

“Steve,” Bucky says quickly, “all of you is a dream. I want to lay you down, touch you everywhere, start with those broad shoulders of yours, yeah, but explore. See how you like to be touched, where; get my mouth on you, taste you. Can I do that? Will you let me?”

Throat bobbing, Steve nods and then clears his throat.

“I know one place I really want you touching me.”

Bucky snorts and Steve blushes, but smiles unapologetically.

“Yeah, I bet,” Bucky says teasingly. “Come on, up. Bed with you. Want you spread out on my sheets when I get to that.”

Though Bucky is the one pushing to move to the bedroom, it’s Steve who’s on his feet first. Pulling Bucky with him, he practically drags Bucky down the hall to the bedroom and even manages to get out of his shoes as they go. Bucky laughs, nearly tripping over one sneaker, as much because of his clumsiness as because Steve is so eager for this. For them. A part of him whispers that it’s because he looks so much like his namesake, but he ignores the mean little voice. No matter why Steve is doing this, Bucky wants it too. It helps he doesn’t think Steve would do this at all if he wasn’t interested in him.

In the bedroom, Steve drops his hand and spins around. He’s still smiling even though Bucky now knows he’s got a hole in the big toe of his left sock which Bucky can’t help but stare at. Until Steve’s shirt hits the floor and then his head comes up so fast he’s in danger of whiplash, that is. Bucky might be spent, but Steve is the single hottest man he has ever met. There is so much skin to take in, and it’s all the more powerful because Steve is normally so modest. Best of all, Bucky is going to touch and taste _all_ of it. 

“Never thought I’d be so appreciative of how much spending our country does on military research,” Bucky says before he can stop himself. Thankfully Steve laughs, but does chuck his jeans at Bucky’s head. Of course, Bucky only notices because they block the view of Steve’s legs. They’re not as thick as his shoulders, but good lord are they incredible. Powerful and long, Steve’s legs are still slender and… Bucky blinks. Hairless.

A scan back up Steve makes him realize all of him is hairless, from neck to his toes, and Bucky doesn’t imagine Steve waxes.

The thought is knocked from his brain as Steve’s thumbs hook in the hemline of his underwear and slowly inches them down his hips. Bucky might be drooling and he doesn’t care to hide it, checking his chin just as the elastic passes Steve’s cock and the head, dripping and red, is displayed for Bucky to admire. Or, rather, devour with his eyes. It’s thick and long, proportional to the rest of Steve, and Bucky will definitely have to ask if that’s natural, or the serum. Later, he’ll ask later. 

“If you were a tootsie pop, I’d be an owl,” Bucky says, letting his eyes memorize every inch of Steve’s naked body, slowly trailing back up his sculpted stomach, his chest, to his face.

“I don’t get the reference,” Steve admits and a moment later, he’s blushing. Bucky’s not sure why; he wasn’t blushing when he looked up; it started the moment they made eye contact. As if it’s the hunger that must be burning in Bucky’s eyes that really gets to him.

Slowly sauntering forward, Bucky explains, “Tootsie pops are lollipops with chewy candy at the center.” He watches Steve’s throat bob and his pupils dilate. “There’s a commercial, where an owl is asked how many licks it’ll take to get to the center.” Placing his hands on Steve’s shoulders, Bucky shoves so he falls, sprawling onto the bed. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Steve licks his lips.

“Not too many,” he pleads, voice hoarse.

Crawling onto the bed, Bucky hovers over Steve, sliding his knee slowly between his legs until his knee is applying just a bit of pressure against Steve’s groin. Again, Steve swallows hard, and this time Bucky lets himself lean down, and licks along his throat. He feels Steve’s breath catch, feels him tremble, and hums with approval as his hands come up to rest on Steve’s shoulders.

“Bucky,” Steve begins, but Bucky shushes him.

“You said I could,” Bucky whispers, leaving his lips against Steve’s skin as he speaks. “Said I could touch you everywhere, get my mouth on you. You got no idea what you do to me, Stevie. No goddamn idea.”

“Bucky,” Steve says again, but this time it’s a prayer or a curse, not a plea. 

Steve’s hands slide down Bucky’s back, touching him like he’s a rare and precious thing. Bucky drags his lips over Steve’s collarbone, to his shoulder, all that hard muscle and smooth skin, and he can’t help but follow his instincts. Opening his mouth, he bites down on a hard pectoral, careful not to cause pain, but not exactly gently either. He wants to mark Steve, sigh his name across Steve’s skin so that everybody knows Steve is his. Steve gasps, the fingers on Bucky’s back digging in, pulling him flush against Steve’s body as the super-soldier’s hips snap up. The feel of Steve’s cock sliding against Bucky’s belly makes it his turn to moan. It feels so good against him, wet and hard. 

Though Bucky had intended to spend more time teasing Steve, touching him, just enjoying him, the desire changes now. There’s a gasp, a moment where Steve’s control slips his control and his hips move enough to break Bucky’s plan. Instead, he wants to taste Steve’s cock so badly he slides right down Steve’s body, wraps his hand around him, and fits his lips around the head. The flesh is smooth under his tongue, bitter with the taste of Steve’s precome, but he loves it and sucks with abandon. Just the head, though, getting a good taste, making Steve writhe on his bed, arching in pleasure. Both Steve’s hands tangle in his hair, tugging, trying to get him to go lower.

Moaning, Bucky thinks how Steve would feel inside him. He’s always loved the moment of penetration, that first stretch and burn. He can’t get hard again just yet, but his cock still twitches, and if he could, he would be rock hard.

“Bucky...” 

Steve’s voice is hoarse and tense. Even his control is fraying and Bucky can taste a fresh bout of precome hitting his tongue. He sucks harder as he feels Steve’s hands clench, the drop to his shoulders and pull. There’s no fighting Steve’s strength and he’s forced to let go of Steve’s cock. 

The world spins and his back hits the cool sheets, Steve’s bulk hovering over him before he’s kissed, hard and fast. Steve’s no longer hesitating, no longer letting Bucky take the lead like he had in the kitchen. The way Steve uses his bulk to press Bucky into the sheets, the way he kisses him, ignites the heat in his belly, makes him melt into the mattress. It makes Bucky open his mouth wide to let Steve’s tongue in and take and possess as much as he wants.

Steve rolls his hips against Bucky's belly, sliding the slick tip of his cock against Bucky's skin, raising goosebumps with every slow brush. Bucky grips Steve’s hips, tries to still him, but it’s like trying to stop a mountain. Bucky’s strength doesn’t even register as resistance. He whimpers, unbearably aroused, wishing he could just get hard already. A second later Steve stills, breaks the kiss, and rests his flushed forehead on Bucky’s chest.

“Bucky,” he groans, “I need to...”

“I know,” Bucky interrupts, the thought of having Steve inside him at the forefront of his mind. It’s not like he needs all that much prep, a little slick and he would be good to go. “I want you to come inside me.” His fingers clench around Steve’s shoulders. “It’ll feel so good, Stevie. Hot and tight.” Steve lets out a strangled sound that’s almost painful and his grip tightens. Bucky hopes it will leave bruises, tiny fingerprints all over his body, marking Steve’s claim on him. “Just,” Bucky twists, trying to reach blindly between his pillows for the half finished bottle of slick he used just the night before to jerk off to this fantasy: Steve’s body over him, in him, taking him any way he wants.

“I want to,” Steve says as he licks Bucky’s nipple, making him whine, high and desperate and arch into Steve’s mouth. “I want to be inside you so badly.”

Bucky cries out triumphantly as his fingers close over the plastic, and he pulls it from between the pillows without dislodging Steve where he’s sucking at his tit, messy and eager, cock drooling precome all over Bucky’s belly.

“Just…” Steve looks up, “How?”

Bucky groans in frustration. He doesn't have the wits to explain how anal sex works right now. He doesn't even want to. Instead, he fumbles the lube open and catches Steve’s hand. “Here,” he rasps, pouring the slick onto Steve’s fingers. Tangling their digits together so everything is slick and a little cold, he bites his lip as Steve makes a sound, catching onto what Bucky intends to do. Bucky pulls their joined hands between his legs. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, but the way Steve lets him direct his hand is possibly the hottest thing Bucky ever experienced.

“Just,” Bucky pants, their fingers between his legs, tugging until Steve touches his hole. “Just slick me up. Just some slick and you can get inside me.” 

And he can already imagine how it will feel when that pretty cock presses at his hole and when it finally pops in. Bucky licks his lips and presses one of Steve’s fingers inside himself. He’s had lovers before, owns several toys, so a single finger isn’t even close to a stretch. It's so different when it’s someone else inside him; when it’s Steve. It’s immediately more intense and makes him pant for breath. Bucky can’t wait, though, even if it means Steve doesn’t have time to explore. Pushing his own finger alongside Steve’s, he stretches himself wide, then wiggles, moaning as it almost burns.

“God, Bucky,” Steve curses. Using his free hand, he pulls Bucky’s knees up to give himself more access. Bucky loves the casual manhandling, the sheer strength, and how focused Steve is on him. “That’s so hot.”

Bucky laughs breathlessly, but the sound is cut short on a moan as Steve ghosts his fingertips around his hole. Then he presses another slick finger questioningly against the place where their joined fingers breach Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, spreading his legs as far as their tangled limbs allow. He’s still soft, cock twitching against his belly again, and he’s perversely glad for it. Nothing will distract him from what’s happening. That’s why he can feel every bit of the third finger slowly penetrating him, the stretch leaving him dizzy as it feels so good. He loves the hard pressure against his hole, the slide against his own finger and inner walls. Bucky bites his lips and arches his neck, moaning, “Yes.” 

Pulling his finger out, he leaves Steve to do the rest himself, because it’ll feel so much better that way. Steve isn’t shy about stuffing another finger in place of the one Bucky removed. It makes Bucky squirm and gasp. He only manages to wait a few moments longer before his impatience gets the better of him and he wraps his hand around Steve’s engorged cock. The tip has leaked so much he’s not sure it’ll need lube, and it throbs in his hand. How Steve has managed to remain so patient for so long is beyond him. 

“Now,” he half-whines, half-commands as he tugs the cock in his grip, “Now, Steve.”

Letting out an eager sound, Steve pulls his fingers free of Bucky’s hole, but doesn’t replace them with his cock. “You aren’t...” 

Steve doesn’t finish and it takes Bucky a long moment to realize he’s staring at Bucky’s cock lying limply on his belly. He can’t answer though, when Steve leans down and gives his cock a little lick, making him twitch since he’s still over-sensitive from his orgasm. Grabbing Steve’s hair, he tugs to pull Steve away again. He doesn't _want_ that; he wants to feel Steve breaching him with as much clarity as possible.

“No.” Bucky tugs, harder, when Steve ignores him to lick again, his breath hot and moist on his skin. “I want you inside me. Like this.” He licks his lips. “Exactly like this, Steve, come on.”

Giving Steve’s cock another gentle pull has him at last letting go of Bucky's cock. Bucky is breathing hard as Steve positions himself, and Bucky doesn't let go. He presses the hot head of Steve’s cock against his sensitive hole and clenches down in anticipation, then immediately relaxes. He wants Steve in. Wants him so bad. 

And then it happens. Steve moves, and for an inexperienced guy, he’s so good with his body. The push is steady and strong, the slick tip pushing at Bucky's rim, stretching it. It’s a bit painful, but it’s a good kind of pain. The kind that makes Bucky’s heart race and his chest work at catching a single breath. A drawn out, strangled sound leaves his throat as Bucky’s body tries to fight despite how relaxed he is. When it gives, and the head pushes past, the immediate sense of fullness, of pressure on his inside walls is everything he wants and everything he loves about sex. Bucky exhales, forcing himself to relax as Steve slowly, steadily slides in deeper, so deep Bucky can feel Steve’s balls pressing against his own. He whimpers, and closes his eyes to savor the moment.

“I can’t,” Steve rasps, stretched over his, body tense as a bowstring. “I can’t go slow.

There’s agony in his voice, but Bucky doesn't want him to go slow, doesn't want to stretch this out. Bucky wants to be fucked, to have Steve come inside him. Bucky wants to feel this so badly he can taste it. 

Tangling his hands in Steve’s hair, he pulls Steve closer and growls into his mouth, “I want you to come.” Steve’s hips jerk once at his words. God, the man’s self control is staggering. “I want you to fuck me as fast and as hard as you want. I want to feel you come inside me, fill me up.” Another twitch and Bucky knows he has him, knows he’ll get what he wants. “I want you to…” 

He doesn’t get to finish. Steve’s control finally snaps and his hips find a hard, fast rhythm, pushing his cock into Bucky. The breath is pushed right out of Bucky at how the his body stretches to accommodate the rough fucking, the fullness from the weight of the cock pounding into him. Before he can catch his breath, Steve is kissing him, pushing his tongue inside Bucky's mouth as fiercely as he’s taking his ass. It’s pure and primal. Steve’s balls slap against Bucky with each thrust. The wet squelch of lube and the slap of flesh on flesh rings in Bucky’s ears, and Steve... The sounds Steve’s makes are breaking Bucky’s mind even as his body’s bent in half. 

The pleasure isn’t too intense; it’s perfect, making him feel like he’s floating as his body is used by Steve, for Steve. It’s over fairly quickly, Steve’s body suddenly turning hard as a rock, and he cries out. The cock inside he swells, throbs, and then the hot rush of semen fills him as Steve comes and comes. Bucky holds Steve as close as he can to make it last longer, rhythmically flexing his muscles, getting Steve to grunt over and over, and then flop, limp atop him. 

Grunting himself, Bucky pushes at Steve, forcing him to uncurl and let Bucky up from the uncomfortable, twisted position. Yet Bucky still whimpers when Steve pulls out. His hole is so sensitive, the rim swollen from the pounding, and everything down there feels obscenely wet. He doesn’t regret a moment of it. His heart his pounding as if he’d come, and his whole body is tingling.

“Wow,” Steve says as he lies down next to him, fitting his body around Bucky like an octopus. Bucky is grateful for the chance to snuggle. He turns on his side, cuddling into Steve, enjoying the way their arms slide around each other so easily. His face ends up pressed against the cleavage of Steve’s ample pecs and really, there's no better place to be.

“That’s a good way to put it,” Bucky agrees, his voice deep and rough.

“Um,” Steve lifts his head, looking down at him, “You sure you don’t need…?”

“No,” Bucky says, contentment lacing the single word, “I loved that. It was everything I wanted.”

“Oh,” Steve smiles and leans back down. “Good.”

Steve pets Bucky in long slow strokes from his shoulders to his ass. It’s soothing, relaxing, and Bucky dozes. That’s probably why it takes a moment before he realises that Steve’s hands are lingering at the bottom of each stroke, brushing between his cheeks, before returning to his shoulders and starting over. 

Hooking his knee over Steve’s hip, he asks sleepily, “You want to touch?” 

“Won’t it hurt?” Steve questions, but his hand has dropped so the tips of his fingers hover over his hole. Bucky huffs, smiling against Steve’s chest. He liked the way Steve’s voice reverberated.

“I’m not gonna break, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, pushing his ass into Steve’s hand. 

Steve doesn't need more encouragement. Fingers slip between Bucky’s cheeks and the pads trace the furl of his hole almost reverently. It feels good, if just a little too much after the pounding he’d just had, but Steve is so careful, so focused, and Bucky truly doesn't want him to stop. He murmurs wordless encouragement, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. 

“Bucky,” Steve says after a while, his voice quiet and gentle. “Can I…?”

“Hmm?” Bucky is half-asleep already, lulled into a relaxed state by the gentle touches.

“Can I taste you?” Steve asks, his voice a bit hushed.

Bucky giggles muzzily.

“You already did.”

Steve huffs at him, his chest expanding and pressing against Bucky’s cheek. He can feel the vibration of sound in it, though he can’t hear anything.

“I mean here.” Steve presses the tips of his fingers against Bucky’s sensitive hole hard enough to make him feel it, hovering just on the edge of actually penetrating him, and it’s Bucky’s turn to gasp. “Can I taste you here?”

Bucky’s mind blanks for a moment, the request not computing coming from somebody who hasn’t actually had sex with a man until now.

“You want to…?” 

“Yes,” Steve confirms before Bucky’s even finished the question, growing more confident with each passing second. “Yes, I want to.”

Nodding, Bucky feels shy, yet eager. He likes the intimacy, the chance to get so close to Steve. And, he thinks again with amusement, who is Bucky to refuse Captain America?

“Well, sweetheart, get to it then.” 

Bucky wriggles away from Steve and then shifts onto his stomach. Steve never really lets go of him, his hands trailing loosely down Bucky’s skin, and he finds he loves that Steve doesn't want to let go. Steve moves over him, sliding down the bed, his hands reaching for Bucky’s ass, then spreading his cheeks. The feel of cool air against his sensitive hole makes him shiver as he presses his face to the cool sheets. He’s tired and sleepy, but excited too, in a slow, relaxed way. 

When he feels the first brush of Steve’s tongue against his hole, he lets out a shuddery gasp. It’s tentative and gentle, barely even there. The next is more confident, sliding over his puffy rim, lapping at the seed leaking from him, and the tightly furled muscle. It feels wonderful, soft and wet. Steve isn’t trying to start something; he’s content with touching Bucky, hands sliding over his hips and back as he explores him with his tongue. 

The first time Steve pushes his tongue inside Bucky, he trembles with how good it feels. His hands clench and unclench in the sheets, and he breathes out carefully. The pleasure is low-key, good without ramping up his arousal. It’s like being petted gently and, perversely, it lulls him towards sleep. He drifts, becoming less and less aware of what Steve is doing. The warmth and security of being so cared for takes him away even with how pleasurable it feels.

\----

Of course, Bucky doesn’t know it’s a dream. He knows later, once he wakes up, but at the time he’s just getting ready for his day. Standing at the mirror, a bowl of hot water before him, towel about his neck. Shaving cream is lathered around his neck and jaw. Shaving has never required much thought and he’s not thinking about it now, bringing the razor down into the basin to clear it off before putting it to his skin again. Over and over, scraping downward, taking cream and hair with, then cleaning it again. Lift the blade, scrape, clean, careful because the blade is sharp. The blade is...

Bucky stills, blinking at himself in the mirror. At the blade in his hand. The blade, not an electric razor.

Looking down at his hands, the blade with its long wooden handle between his fingers, and swallows. It falls from his hand and clatters against the basin, the sound ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know how to use a barber’s razor, he’s never used one in his life. Yet it had felt so natural, something he’s done a million times every morning since he was a teenager.

Stepping back from the basin, from the blade staring at him like an accusation, the movement in the reflection catches his eye. It’s him, not a monster, or phantom, and he exhales slowly, relaxing. It’s just him. A laugh bubbles up in his throat as he leans against the dresser and makes a face at himself. When he realizes the man staring back isn’t quite him, the expression falls away as he leans forward, squinting at his own reflection.

The hair is a bit shorter, styled neatly with a heavy use of product. There’s wrinkles at his eyes and about his mouth he isn’t used to seeing, and his body is a bit more muscular. He stares at his naked torso, at jagged scars he doesn’t remember receiving. One is across his shoulder, another curved over his ribs, deep and dark, and he knows he’s never had that injury. The worst injury he’d ever got was breaking his arm, and looking now, the scar just beneath his elbow is gone. Like it had never happened.

The pulse point in Bucky’s throat starts to double, pounding so it flutters his skin. He drops his gaze from the mirror to his body, staring at it directly. Every knuckle is scarred and calloused. They’re swollen, as if he was just fighting, scabs rough and crusted. It’s not just the wounds though; these are not his hands. They’re too big, too rough.

This is not his body. 

Everything’s wrong.

“No,” Bucky blurts, staring at his hands, at the reflection of the body that's not his. “No!” the word rings in his ears, in his head, drowning any coherent thought. “NO!” he screams and lashes out at the reflection, the hateful, lying thing.

The glass shatters, soundless, only the echo of his own scream in his ears. Glass explodes everywhere, raining in a shower storm over the basin of water, the floor, the odd dresser he’s been standing before. 

Then he’s sitting up straight in bed, Steve by his side, his heart pounding a thousand miles a minute, throat so dry it clicks painfully. The sound of his scream is still echoing in his ears, the fear sour on his tongue. Only it’s not over. Bucky’s mind is folding, splitting. He’s existing twice, and yet feels like he always has, Bucky Barnes, emergency medical technician. He can remember his night classes, learning how to save lives. Yet, he remembers that week two different ways. The other is basic training; weapons drills, gas mask drills, marching drills…

Bucky shakes his head hard, trying to dislodge these… memories. He’s never been in basic training. He’s 27 years old, his sister Becca is going to school to be a forensic accountant, his mom and dad live in Brooklyn and go to temple every week. Except, he remembers his mom dying in childbirth and his dad being a mean drunk, and Steve…

Thinking of Steve breaks free some sort of dam in his mind. It’s not painful, but it’s so overwhelming he gasps, feels like he’s drowning. Steve as a child. Steve as an adult, but smaller, so small. They’re fighting in back alleys more than his gym, getting a half-rotten appartment near DUMBO, getting by with each other, because of each other…

Bucky falls out of bed, or scrambles out of it; he doesn’t remember.

“Bucky?” Steve calls, sitting up behind him. Bucky glances his way, but winces as his memories fracture again. He’s sitting with his parents and his sister, talking about Becca’s college choices, but he’s _also_ strapped to a table. There’s a doctor with little round glasses leaning over him, promising it won’t hurt for long and…

“Bucky?!”

Stumbling to his feet, Bucky slams his way into the bathroom. It’s an actual bathroom with an actual sink, toilet, and shower and a mirror spanning from ceiling to counter. The man in the mirror is the one Bucky knows, the one with a scar on his elbow, smeared rainbows on his cheeks, and a little too much fat about his waist, but not anything to be ashamed of. It’s not the wiry scrapper with scars and boxer’s knuckles, but he could be. He knows he could be. He remembers it, the hours spent in the gym, the boxing matches, fighting because -

No, the only fights Bucky’s ever been in were because he came out in high school and not everyone thought that was okay. Yet when he punches this mirror, the real one, he knows it’s a perfect right hook that shatters the glass into a million spokes. A million shards like the ones breaking off, spreading through his mind, so there’s two of him. Two of him and somehow he feels like he’s no one. God, it’s so confusing. There’s the ‘old’ him, the ‘current’ him, and fuck, apparently Steve who has always been Steve.

“Bucky?” Steve yells through the door before pounding on it hard enough the frame rattles. “Bucky talk to me! What’s wrong?”

“Jesus, fuck, Stevie, just… gimme a damn minute.”

Wincing, Bucky presses on both sides of his head, hoping that will some how sort it all out. Maybe it does, or maybe the memories are settling. There’s still two, for every moment there’s two of him, but it’s not a fracture. It’s not like the broken mirror with it’s jagged edges and eyes reflecting back. It had felt that way at first, sure, but now? Now it feels like settling into his own skin. Like remembering his own name.

“Bucky, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m comin’ in there,” Steve promises and Bucky knows he will, because he’s always been so goddamn stubborn. So damn stubborn and… Bucky goes still, remembering just the last day. There’s no overlap and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t much care, but he remembers what Steve said and what they did. More importantly, he remembers Steve never told Bucky he was queer. 

Whirling away from the sink, Bucky grabs the door and yanks it open. Steve nearly topples in, but Bucky grabs his shoulders and shakes him hard. He barely notices Steve’s still naked, just shakes him until Steve’s hands cover his own and he’s being pulled away. 

Holding Bucky’s hands up by his ears, Steve gasps, “Jesus, Bucky, the hell is going on?”

The question leaves Bucky floundering for a moment because the words that want to burst from his mouth don’t make much sense. Steve _just_ told him he was bisexual, so Bucky can’t exactly accuse him of never telling him. Only, it’s true. Both things are true.

What Bucky means to say is some explanation of what’s happening in his head. What comes out is, “God damn, breakin’ a bit off you is better ‘n I ever imagined a blanket party could be.”

For a good minute they just stand there, staring at each other. Steve’s jaw works, eyes wide, head pulled back in confusion. Bucky doesn’t know what to say, how this has happened, let alone how it’s possible. He died. He can _remember_ dying, but he’s here. Steve’s here. They had sex and it was _fantastic,_ and no one is going to kill them for it.

“Bucky?” Steve breathes at last. The answer is yes, but it’s not so simple as that either. Yet, the inflection on his name makes Bucky think that Steve, somehow, knows the truth.

Bucky exhales, closing his eyes and slumping in Steve’s hold.

“Yeah, Stevie. It’s me. Dunno… how, but it’s me.”

Both Steve’s hands release him at once, but only so Steve can pull his head up, thumbs under his chin. Blue eyes, unchanged since the 1920s, search his face. Bucky’s not sure what the hell he’s looking for; he hasn’t changed how he looks since they fucked, so he makes a face and pulls away.

“Stop it.”

Dropping his hands, Steve takes a step back and whatever was open and hopeful in his face closes off.

“It’s not possible. You were like him, you were always like him, but you’re not… him.“

“There are things I remember,” Bucky licks his lips, reaching for the - new? old? - memories. “I remember you.”

“No, you’re not him,” Steve’s protests desperately. “You can’t be.”

“You used to stuff your shoes with newspapers,” Bucky says, closing his eyes as the image of Steve enters his mind, fixing the stuffing because his feet were too small for his hand-me-downs and the paper was poking him. “You wouldn’t tell anyone, ‘cause you were embarrassed you had to wear my shoes.”

“How do you…” Steve swallows, changes his sentence to, “You can’t know that.”

“Steve,” Bucky says carefully, “I can’t explain it. I hardly understand it, but I remember… both. His life, my life. I’m me, I’m him, I’m… Bucky. I’m just Bucky.”

Steve doesn’t deny it further, just stares at Bucky with what looks like devastation on his face.

“Stevie?” Bucky asks, leaning towards Steve because it’s even more important now than before that he not lose his best friend.

“Do you know,” Steve asks hoarsely, “how much… what it means…? If what you are saying is true…”

“Stevie,” Bucky reaches for Steve, closing his hands over those ridiculously powerful shoulders. “I’m not lying. I'm the guy you grew up with. I’m the same person you met after defrosting. I remember that life just as well as I remember _this_ life.” He takes a deep breath. “I remember getting beat up behind the old church by the O’Malley brothers because I chased their cousin away when he tried to beat the shit out of you. I remember convincing you to accept help after your ma died. I remember you being so sick, so weak, we were all sure you weren’t going to make it another minute, much less a year. I remember the Army. The training. Being sent to Europe and realising just how fucked I was. I remember Zola, and you finding me. I remember you, Steve.” Hands falling, palms open, he helplessly offers his truth. “I’m not lying to you. I _remember_.”

“Bucky,” Steve says again, the same way he did at first, and then lunges forward. He crushes Bucky against his chest, holding him tight, squeezing the air out of his lungs. With his nose buried against Steve’s collarbone, Bucky smiles and hugs Steve back with all he’s got. They were together, but now they’re _together_ , and it means so much. Not just to Steve, but to Bucky. He’s loved Steve his whole life.

Suddenly Steve tenses, his hands clenching on Bucky, then grasping his shoulders so he can hold him at arm's length and look into his eyes. His face is set, and the tilt of his lips and the angle of his eyebrows means trouble. The entire expression means Steve is going to do something stupid and self-sacrificing, the drama llama breathing deeply in preparation to deliver what will either be a momentous speech, or the most idiotic thing Bucky’s heard. Bucky feels giddy that he can actually recognize it before Steve pulls back, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Bucky,” Steve says in his deep, Captain America voice, “I am so, _so_ sorry.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, frowning at Steve. That is isn't what he expected to hear after getting his best friend back in such an unorthodox way.

“For what?” he asks, cautious because this is Steve, and one never knows what he might come up with. It’s why he keeps staring, waiting for any clue of what Steve is going on about.

Steve blushes tomato red from the tips of his ears, down to his neck. It’s so fierce and familiar and Bucky can’t help the way it makes him smile. The smile slips as Steve shifts into parade rest, like he’s lined up for a firing squad, not standing before his best friend.

“For… for touching you… inappropriately,”

“Ah, what?” Bucky manages. 

“Earlier. If you’re… I mean, if you’re you again -”

“And still who I was,” Bucky says to be clear.

“Yeah,” Steve shifts from foot to foot, “but if you’re who you were, you’re… Well, you’ll wanna wash off those rainbows.”

“I’ll wanna…” Bucky shakes his head, confused now. “Why would I do that?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to stare. He looks so tense, so lonely with his hands clenched tightly behind his back as if stopping himself from reaching for Bucky.

“Because you aren’t…” Steve gestures helplessly at the wings and pants discarded in their rush to get to Bucky’s bed.

“Queer?” Bucky supplies. “How, in the name of god, would me remembering my past life change who I am? I told you,” he growls, “I’m still who I am. I’m both. And, I was never as straight as you apparently think.”

Bucky has had enough of Steve standing so tensely, like Bucky’s some higher authority with Steve’s life in his hands. Reaching out, he pulls at Steve’s shoulders until the tension breaks and he reaches back for Bucky with a desperate sob. After wrapping Steve in his arms, Bucky lets Steve bury his face in his own shoulder as he trembles and begins to sob. He holds Bucky to him so tightly it hurts, but Bucky only clings to Steve in return, feeling both elated and sad. He is so glad to have Steve back, to remember his friend is under all this Captain America history, to get back the friend he never knew he missed. At the same time, it’s heartbreaking just how much Steve missed him, how much fear he had that sleeping together would mean Bucky didn’t care any more. The big lug’s forgotten that Bucky loved him too.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s hair, “It’s okay now. I’m… well, here.”

“How… how is this possible?” Steve manages to ask between his sobs.

“I have no idea,” Bucky says honestly, “but,” he pulls Steve’s head up by his hair and stares into his reddened, wet eyes. “I’m grateful I am. I’m grateful to have you back. To _be_ back.” He looks down at Steve’s damn pretty chest. “And I’m also happy to have you naked in my arms.”

Steve snorts, hiccuping a laugh, and punches Bucky lightly in the side.

“So, we’re, um…?”

It’s a bit of a strange moment as his brain tells him Steve is asking about their relationship when he’s simultaneously uncertain what Steve wants to hear. He shakes it off, then kisses Steve on the nose.

“Sweetheart, you’re all mine. My best guy, boyfriend, partner; I don’t much care what you call it. We’re together.”

Steve lets out a sigh, tightens his hold on Bucky’s waist and it’s all the warning he gets before he’s being lifted and thrown onto the bed. Landing with a bounce, Bucky laughs, and then Steve is on him. He laughs again when Steve bodily hauls him around, pushing and pulling, manhandling him until he’s spooned with Steve’s body wrapped around him, holding him close, legs tangled together.

“You coulda just asked me to lie down,” Bucky huffs, but he doesn’t mind.

“I love you,” Steve whispers in reply. The words have Bucky shivering, relaxing, and closing his eyes. 

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs. “Always have.”


End file.
